


The Amnesia Hex

by MarlynnOfMany



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Amnesia, Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Other, Post-Canon, Temporary Amnesia, True Love's Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:34:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22082674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarlynnOfMany/pseuds/MarlynnOfMany
Summary: Agents of Hell attempt to reduce Crowley's memory to factory settings, but it doesn't quite take.Adorable shenanigans ensue.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub & Gabriel (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 267





	The Amnesia Hex

**Author's Note:**

> A conversation on [Tumblr](https://marlynnofmany.tumblr.com) prompted this one. "Hey, what if this happened. That would be fun. Someone should write this. Many someones should write this! Two Cakes, and all that!" 
> 
> Then there's me, who has written about magically-induced amnesia before, going "WHELP, my task is clear. Let's do this." So I did. No regrets.

It happened while they were at the park. Aziraphale had stepped aside to a food cart while Crowley checked his phone by the duck pond. There was no rustling in the bushes to give away the presence of Hell’s stealthiest underling, someone even the Serpent of Eden couldn’t detect. 

The hex was silent. Just as Crowley put away his phone, he found himself blinking at the pond, wondering how he’d gotten there. Something in the bushes smiled, sticking around to watch before reporting back Downstairs. 

Crowley looked around in confusion. Pond. Ducks. Humans wearing strange clothes. One walking toward him. 

“Angel!” he exclaimed in surprise. 

It was Aziraphale all right, wearing a beige-and-blue outfit that looked slightly less strange than the humans around them, and carrying what must be food in each hand. He smiled brightly at Crowley and offered him one. 

“Oh, I know, they’re out of your favorite,” the angel said apologetically. “This is close. Strawberry sherbet; it reminds me of your hair. Might I _tempt_ you into trying something new?” His eyebrows did a scandalous dance. 

Crowley opened and closed his mouth twice, taking the offered treat before he settled on the right thing to say. Then it occurred to him to wonder at part of that. He put a hand up to his hair, which was much shorter and spikier than he remembered. What was going on? What year was it? 

Aziraphale was chattering away, leading the way down the footpath. Crowley kept pace as his thoughts sped in circles. He had to play it cool. He’d obviously been punished — after all these years, they’d finally caught him for something worth a memory wipe, and he didn’t even remember what it was! They were probably watching now. 

He scanned the crowds, but no luck. Of course he wouldn’t be able to spot them. But that didn’t mean they weren’t there. This was an exceptionally dangerous moment to be caught in; they would see him walking alongside the enemy. Unless he could make it look like a successful temptation? But they would know he’d forgotten why he was there— His thoughts stopped dead as he reached the road. 

_What_ were those carriages speeding along with no horses? What _year_ was it??

He stopped to gape. Aziraphale halted beside him. 

The wheels frantically spinning in Crowley’s head screeched to a halt as he felt a hand clasp his. 

Frozen in place, Crowley managed to turn his head to see Aziraphale casually toss the remains of his treat in a trash can, before beaming at Crowley like his own private sun. 

Crowley tried to let go, but his traitorous fingers refused. “We don’t know who’s watching,” he hissed, glancing around again. 

He heard Aziraphale say, “My dear,” then there was a hand on his cheek. 

When he looked back, familiar blue eyes were inches from his. 

“Who cares?” Aziraphale said, then kissed him. 

Shock. Panic. Fireworks. _Ngk_. The watcher in the bushes would see — but this was — the angel had kissed him! Was kissing him! 

Crowley suddenly had a theory of what he’d been punished for. And it was absolutely worth it. 

He wrapped his arms around his angel and returned the kiss with interest, losing the food thing and not caring a whit. 

Aziraphale made noises of mild surprise and enough approval that Crowley nearly forgot they were in public. It was only when Aziraphale pulled away with an embarrassed chuckle that he stepped back and regained his composue. This was fine. Everything was fine. _Nothing_ was fine, _oh my satan_ …

“Are you quite all right, my dear?” Aziraphale asked. 

Crowley verbally floundered, waving both hands, at a loss as to where to start. Then a particularly loud engine sounded, and he jumped in startlement. A look at the road showed him a speeding something on two wheels, ridden by a human dressed for war, thundering past like an avalanche. He watched it go in open astonishment. 

“You’re not all right. Crowley, what’s wrong?” 

“What’s— Everything is— What was that, no what was _that!_ ” He waved first at the street and then at his own mouth, flipping his hand between them. “Not complaining, on board absolutely, a little uh surprised is all, still being watched and um…” Something else on the road honked like an angry goose. “What year is it?” Crowley finally asked. 

Aziraphale put a hand on his arm, a picture of concern. “Oh dear. I’m sorry I didn’t see it before, but there’s traces of a hex about. We’d better get you inside and figure out what it is.” He turned purposefully and led Crowley along the walkway. 

“It’s a memory wipe,” Crowley told him. “Standard Hell punishment. I’ve talked my way out of it before, but apparently not this time. I don’t even know what I did — I mean, I can guess, and oh it’s probably going to be worse now that they saw that, but still I’m glad you did it…”

Aziraphale was looking at him with a number of emotions. “What’s the last thing you remember?” 

Crowley shrugged as he let himself be towed along by the hand. “Hard to pinpoint. Is Victoria still queen?” 

The sympathy in Aziraphale’s eyes told him she was not. “Oh, Crowley.” 

Then they were stopping at the roadside, next to a large black whatever that had no one driving it at the moment. Crowley looked to Aziraphale for clarification. 

The angel looked embarrassed. “Normally you’d drive, but I see how that would be a bad idea right now. Under usual circumstances I would never be so bold as to— well, nothing for it. In you go!” He ushered Crowley toward the lefthand door and snapped his fingers. Crowley heard a mechanism click. 

With a feeling of deep suspicion, Crowley pulled open the door and settled into the passenger seat of the horseless carriage. Aziraphale fussed about in the driver’s seat, pushing buttons and twisting knobs and generally acting like he was doing something he knew he shouldn’t be. It was both worrisome and endearing as hell. 

“All right, off we go!” Aziraphale announced. The vehicle rumbled and moved forward slowly, picking up speed until it matched the others on the road. 

Something in the back of Crowley’s head told him that this was much too slow. He grabbed onto that almost-memory and pulled, hoping for more.

* * *

The shadowy wisp that passed for a stealth demon whispered its report to Beelzebub. Its troubling, disappointing report.

“What do you mean, partial succezz?” Beelzebub demanded. “He ztill remembers the angel? He only forgot a couple centuriezz? That iz a failure!” Zhe slammed a fist on the table, looking away. “Not a surprize, after the holy water, but ztill a failure! Now I’ll have to explain thiz to—” 

The phone that buzzed to life in zir pocket played the Meredith Brooks song “I’m A Bitch” as a ringtone. The look on Beelzebub’s face was a sour one. 

“Get out,” zhe commanded. 

The shadow demon breezed out the door while the Prince of Hell decided what to say to the Archangel on the phone.

* * *

“We’re almost there, my dear,” Aziraphale said cheerily. “At first I thought we’d best go consult the books, but I think we might save some time by checking in with a practicing magic-user instead. You won’t remember her, if your memories are gone so far back — has anything more returned?”

“Cars,” Crowley said. “I think… I remember cars. This car. My car! Oh, what are you doing driving this slow? I need to drive; pull over!” 

“You remembered something!” Aziraphale said, beaming. At Crowley’s urging, he stopped the car with agonizing slowness, complimenting Crowley all the while for resisting the powerful memory hex. Crowley was out of the car before it stopped. 

Aziraphale’s hand on his arm as they traded places in the driver’s seat made his heart rate do stupid things. He ducked his head and tried to play it cool. He made himself comfortable while Aziraphale bustled over to the passenger side. This was familiar. This was right. This was his car, and this was a memory he’d regained. Yes, he would beat this! 

Gunning the engine was also familiar. Leaping into traffic with a yelp from Aziraphale was _very_ familiar. Crowley laughed. Things were looking up. 

Then he noticed something that felt new as he turned the steering wheel: something on his finger. Of his left hand. The ring finger. 

There was a ring on his ring finger, and he almost crashed the car. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed, clutching the handle while other cars honked and drove around the Bentley stopped in the middle of the street. “What’s wrong? Do you want me to…” He stopped talking when Crowley held up his left hand, staring with what must have been a poleaxed expression. 

“Is this—” Crowley’s head whipped to the side, seeking out Aziraphale’s left hand. 

The angel held it up with a bashful smile. The ring matched his own. 

“When—” Crowley choked out. 

“Last June,” Aziraphale told him. “The ceremony was lovely. Oh, I do hope you get some of those memories back! Maybe visiting Anathema will jog something loose.” 

“Anathema?” Crowley asked. He poked at the ring as if it might disappear. 

“Ah, she, um, well you call her ‘Book Girl’ usually,” Aziraphale said. “It’s a bit of a long story. We’re nearly there; let’s see if you remember anything before I get into all that, shall we?” 

Crowley grudgingly agreed. He wanted to ask for a detailed retelling of everything that had led to a wedding — their wedding! Him and Aziraphale! — but he also wanted to be able to remember it for himself, so onward he drove. 

With Aziraphale’s directions, they were soon in a picturesque little town, coming in to park outside a picturesque little cottage. It didn’t look familiar, but Crowley told himself to give it time. 

He got out of the car to follow Aziraphale through the gate, not noticing the low-ranking demon watching nervously from behind the fence. 

When Aziraphale knocked, the young woman who answered seemed like someone Crowley may have met before. He let Aziraphale do the talking. Thankfully it didn’t take the witch long to catch up. 

“You’d better come inside,” she said, looking the two of them over with slightly unfocused eyes. Her vision snapped back to normal, and she led the way in. 

While they got settled in with tea, the three talked. Crowley kept mostly quiet, offering the occasional detail about the punishment hex. It didn’t take long for Anathema to announce her verdict. 

“Your auras are intertwined in a way I haven’t seen before,” she said over her tea. “I suppose it makes sense, given how long you’ve known each other and been … close. Humans could probably do that too, given a few thousand years. But I think that’s why the spell hasn’t taken full effect.” 

“Because it’s targeting two people?” Aziraphale asked. “But I haven’t lost any memories.” 

“Because it doesn’t affect angels,” Crowley said. “You wouldn’t. Can you imagine if it did? Hell would be using that every day of the week, and none of your lot would remember anything after the Fall.” 

“Former lot,” Aziraphale said primly. Crowley wanted to stop the conversation right there and ask questions — he would _know_ if the angel had Fallen — but Anathema was still talking. 

“It’s the angelic influence in your aura that’s making the spell unravel,” she said. “I think you could give it a push. Think of things you’ve done together. Do you remember the Apocalypse? Squaring off against Satan, just the two of you and the Antichrist?”

“The _what_ ,” Crowley said, but images were popping into his head even as he said it. The ground breaking open, a terrifying form climbing out, he and Aziraphale standing hand-in-hand with the child who would rewrite the world. They had certainly teamed up then, hadn’t they? 

“I have a better idea,” Aziraphale said from much too close. 

Crowley turned as fingers slid into his hair. Those blue eyes were right there in front of him again, waiting this time. Pulse thundering in his ears, Crowley took off his sunglasses and dropped them somewhere near the table. 

He moved into the kiss, closed his eyes, and thought of nothing else. This was real. This was happening. Somehow, they’d gotten here, and that was all that mattered. 

He’d dreamed about this for longer than he would ever admit. It was everything he’d hoped it would be — everything he’d been sure he would never have. 

His memories unfolded behind his eyes, starting with a similar kiss at their wedding, and moving on to many more, branching out to hugs and handholding and companionable strolls and many many meals together, spanning back through the ages. He remembered it all. 

He wasn’t about to admit that and give Aziraphale an excuse to stop. 

It was only when something clumsy clattered against the window and Anathema made a surprised sound that the pair separated. 

They turned to level identical glares at the minor demon spying on them. 

It turned and ran. 

“I’ll give you a reason to run,” Crowley growled, leaping for the door. He rushed outside and found the garden hose coiled at the side of the house. “Angel!” he said more loudly than necessary, “I’ve got the hose! You bless the water!”

He heard the demon yelp in renewed panic. Crowley made a show of aiming the hose after it. The distant figure slipped on something that was probably left by a certain former hellhound. Then it ducked out of sight behind a building, and Crowley felt it burrowing through the dirt back to Hell. Then it was gone. 

With a laugh, Crowley tossed the hose aside. Aziraphale miracled it back onto the hook. 

“They should know better than to mess with us,” Crowley said. 

“That one was at the trial,” Aziraphale told him. “He _definitely_ knows better.” 

Crowley cackled. “Oh, he’ll spread the word about that, then!” 

“Yes, I imagine he will.” 

Arm-in-arm, they went back into the cottage to finish the —ahem — conversation that had been so rudely interrupted.

* * *

“Yezz, he saw the hex dizzolve completely,” Beelzebub said into the phone, scowling. “The two of them did zomething _human_ , and it wrecked one of our mozt reliable corrective measurez. Thiz bearz looking into.”

Zhe was quiet while the Archangel spoke. Zhe stared at the wall and planned. 

“Yez, I would like to explore it further. I’ll tell you where to meet.” Zhe smiled, showing many teeth. “Wear zomething easy to remove.” 

One way or another, today wouldn’t be a total loss.


End file.
